


Good Girl

by celluloidbroomcloset



Category: The Avengers (TV)
Genre: F/M, Masturbation, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-04-23 16:15:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4883419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celluloidbroomcloset/pseuds/celluloidbroomcloset
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cathy Gale has difficulty sleeping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Girl

Cathy Gale couldn’t sleep. It seemed to be a feature of her life now – at least, it had been since she returned from Scotland. There wasn’t anything specific that prevented her rest (though initially she blamed her injured arm, which kept her awake for more nights than she cared to remember). The arm was better now, didn’t hurt at all, yet her sleep patterns were very definitely disrupted.

She awakened at 4:00 every morning, certain that she was still in that room at The Unit, still looking at Steed – her friend, her partner – his eyes cold and confused and uncertain, his sanity hanging in the balance. She had never been so terrified – not since those horrible days in Kenya, when Robert was violently wrenched from her life. Of course she did not feel for Steed as she had for Robert, but he was her friend, after all. Her good friend.

Cathy shifted on her pillows. Steed was her friend, but he was a maddening, idiosyncratic one – at times, she almost thought they might grow closer, but something, some thoughtless little word or action, always reconstructed the barriers as quickly as they had broken down. She could never love him – he was far too annoying, too manipulative, too dangerous to love. He was not the sort of man she wanted. At all. 

But then, there were things besides love. Companionship, closeness, friendship. Attraction. That she found Steed attractive she did not deny. He was attractive: tall, broad-shouldered, with that gorgeous head of curly dark hair off-set by his pale grey eyes. When he smiled – a true smile, not the devious quirk of the mouth he sometimes got when he asked her to do something very unpleasant; when he truly, happily smiled, she could almost feel the affection in her heart, like a jab with a hypodermic. That’s what Steed was: a weird combination of pleasure and pain, a combination to which it was easy to grow addicted.

She just could not get comfortable! The pillow was lumpy, the bed was too soft – or possibly, too hard. She sat up, collecting the blankets around her chest. For whatever reason – certainly sleep deprivation – an image of Steed rose in her mind. Not Steed as she had last seen him, swanning about in his pin-striped suit and twirling his umbrella at the door of the restaurant, but Steed as he had been those few hours while they searched for a doctor in the pouring rain. His arm bracing her, holding her, his wet shirt clinging to him, his hair mussed and streaked with mud…

Cathy opened her eyes. Cliched image, but fascinating nonetheless. She felt a warm, familiar throb between her legs. Fine, if that’s what she wanted. It did no harm and it might relax her. She could not forget how good, how reassuring his arms had felt, how warm his body to ward off the cold. 

Cathy leaned back in her bed, picturing Steed. Steed before her as he had been that day, wet and mussed, his eyes smouldering with that lust he never tried to conceal. How he would climb onto her bed, crawl between her legs, hold himself above her, lean down to kiss her…

Without thinking about it, she shimmied out of her knickers, raising her legs in the bed. One hand sought her breast, smoothing her fingers over it, thinking of him. His hands – big, rough hands, and thick, short fingers. He wouldn’t be gentle. He would grab her as he kissed her, as she grabbed herself, her breast filling his hand, the callouses of his palm rubbing against her nipple, making her stiff. She thought of his mouth – his thin-lipped mouth, the sardonic grin – and then thought how it would feel on her, sucking on her. She pinched her breast and felt the nip of his teeth, the smile that would overspread his face as she gasped, arched, felt him between her thighs, still clothed but pressing against her. Hard. He would be hard by now.

Her fingers slipped lower, trailing down her abdomen, just skirting the edge of her pubic hair before touching, lightly, her clitoris. His hand now, those thick fingers, sliding into her while he still tongued her breast, sucked on her collarbone, bit her. She closed her eyes and he was there, standing by her bed in that pin-striped suit now, taking off his tie, his waistcoat, bearing the strong body she knew lay beneath those dandified clothes. He was naked, erect, his cock big and hard.

Her hand worked against her clitoris, not wanting to dip within just yet. Would she suck him? No. She was too close for that. But he would kneel between her legs and kiss her again – hard, violently, marking her even as she bit his lower lip. She spread for him, but he wouldn’t enter her, not yet. He would tease her, the bastard, like she teased herself, pressing the very tip of his penis against her but refusing to take her, sucking on her tongue, holding her down with his hands, stroking her, grabbing her hips and lifting her. She would have to take him, grab him and push him inside and she could practically hear his gasp and growl as she buried him in her, her fingers pushing inside herself. 

“Good girl,” he’d moan, grabbing her thigh until it bruised, shifting inside her.

She raised her hips, mimicking how she would make him move, how he would move, slow, measured strokes, pushing in and pulling out, the whole length of his thick shaft. Her fingers were not enough, but she could imagine him, imagine the base of his penis rubbing against her clitoris on the downstroke, her legs locking around his back, the look in his eyes as he met hers – lust and passion and need.

Cathy stroked herself faster, and she heard his grunts, his growls, could feel the weight of his body on hers, and glorious friction inside her, harder, faster. He would come violently, emptying into her, as she jerked and writhed and cried out, her own fluids coating her fingers. She could feel his breath on her neck and the whispered words in her ear, as though he was there, still lying on top of her.

“Good girl.”

Cathy opened her eyes. Her room was quiet. Her body felt calmer. Satiated. She rested her hand on her stomach. Perhaps, now, she could sleep.


End file.
